


I broke your heart last summer

by eiphemode



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Adrinette | Adrien Agreste/Marinette Dupain-Cheng, F/M, Fluff, Post-Relationship, pre-reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:35:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28186983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eiphemode/pseuds/eiphemode
Summary: A few memories come into Marinette’s head when she recalled last summer: sticky clothes, sweaty armpits and suffocating shifts at her parent’s bakery.But how could she forget? With vibrant sunsets, clear nights and hair that reeked of chlorine.Marinette can still recall last summer.Because Adrien Agreste felt in love with her.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Comments: 6
Kudos: 50





	I broke your heart last summer

**Author's Note:**

> (because I was listening to "Our last summer"-ABBA when I first started to write this fic.)

In terms of what she could describe from last summer, Marinette remembered heat.

Hot, humid, unbreathable air. Clammy denim shorts and loose-fitting tank tops that tended to stick onto her bra. Swollen feet. Sweaty armpits. Sunburned skin itching and peeling on her shoulders.

_Hot. Hot. Hot._

Annoying whirs from the bakery fan ─a deteriorated appliance their parents refused to discard despite its pitiful state─ to which Marinette felt no attachment or mercy. Suffocating customers in front of the cash register, all hasty and feverish trying to make their stay as short as possible, ordering anything but warm bread and complaining in vain about the lack of air conditioning in the place.

Indeed, it was an insufferable season.

But how could she forget? With vibrant sunsets and clear nights. Melted ice-cream slipping through her fingers as the sweet taste of peach coated her lips at Pont des Arts. Hair that reeked of chlorine after cooling evenings in the pool. Le Jardin du Luxembourg and the freshly whiff of mowed grass hitting her nostrils ─ somehow refreshing and soothing ─ at the same time she looked among seated people and cheerful children for a nice spot to rest on the lawn.

Marinette could still recall last summer.

Because It was when Adrien Agreste felt in love with her.

Marinette rubbed her frozen fingers along the soft material of her coat, nose buried on her thick scarf, as she waited for her mother’s appearance thought the doors of the bakery. The wintertime breeze seeped into her bones like cold metal, making her wait painfully unpleasant, her bare hands taking the brunt. She was freezing. She regretted not bringing a pair of gloves with her. But compared with long hours glued to an airplane seat, maybe it was a fair deal to feel a little shivery right now.

Her eyes prickled with anticipation.

It had been a long time since she set a foot there. The bakery. Her house. Even when she managed to make lame excuses and quick escapades in order to defeat akumas, her stops in Paris always remained limited as her duties across the Atlantic demanded her presence. Which really sucked, because albeit a fashion internship abroad is as life changing as it sounded, she had more than one reason to feel nostalgic.

Oh, how she missed home.

It was about 7 A.M and the bakery had not opened yet. Despite the grayish tones tinting the façade, the overall picture inspired festivity: Luxuriant garlands, white poinsettia bouquets and silvery baubles framed the edges of the masonry piers and the storefront cornice. Golden lights fell from the awning like a graceful cascade. Fake snow was painted along the corners of the window displays and a star-shaped wreath stood at the center of the front door. It looked pristine, _welcoming_ , and Marinette couldn’t be more anxious.

A metallic click drew her attention. Suddenly, a familiar small figure hovered under the threshold and all Marinette could feel was excitement.

“Oh my god.” She shrieked, running towards the woman, and wrapping her body into a tight embrace. “I missed you so much!”

Sabine laughed. She buried her head against her daughter’s shoulder, her arms shakily returned the gesture. “I missed you more.”

And now Marinette was weeping, overwhelmed by the tenderness of her mother’s hold and the recognizable scent on her clothes.

“How are you? How was your flight? Did you eat something?” Sabine asked in a hurry, taking a step back to lock her glassy eyes into her daughter’s. “Sorry, let’s get inside. You must be freezing out here.”

An embarrassing sob escaped through her lips. “I’m fine, maman.”

She nodded and quicky checked on Marinette one more time before stepping aside, making room for her in the entrance. Marinette grabbed the pink suitcase standing stiffly a few meters away from them and dragged it in, the wheels rolling loudly over the frosted concrete. Inside, the heat from the lit ovens warmed her up almost immediately. The mouthwatering aromas of chocolate and melted butter and yeast filled her nostrils. Across the room, the bass humming on her father’s lips while his tough hands kneaded the dough reached her ears. So calm and joyful and so him.

Marinette smiled as she wiped the tears from her eyes.

It felt good to be back.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Her father was ecstatic.

Tom Dupain was vigorously moving his hands as he talked about everything that came into his mind. Food jump out of his mouth and his eyes were wide open with enthusiasm, eager to continue his histories, even when Marinette had already heard of them and the spat content of his lunch was dropping close to her plate.

She didn’t seem bothered, though. Marinette might witness her father’s purest manifestation of happiness over and over again if that means she’d witness it at all.

Sabine, on the other hand, did seem frustrated.

“Have you talked to Alya?” She asked, shifting the focus of their conversation, and offering a napkin to her husband. “She told us the other day you two already have something planned.”

“Oh, yes!” Marinette answered, swallowing the last mouthful of chicken in her mouth. “We’ll hang out tomorrow, she has a project to finish now.”

“That’s sounds nice,” Her mother cheered. “No plans for today, then.”

“Well, no?” Marinette responded, distractedly placing the edges of her water glass over her lips. Then she added with a shrug, “Unless spending the entire afternoon here counts as one.”

Sabine made a sound closed to an affirmation while she pricked a small piece of potato, her fork accidentally screeching the ceramic for a split second. Marinette barely flinched, wrinkling her nose and her father loudly cleared his throat, claiming his time to intervene on the issue.

“You sure?” he innocently inquired, pretending to be busy with his meal. “No one else is waiting for you?”

Marinette stared at him and a frown filled her countenance of intrigue. “What do you─?” A thick pause. Panic. Horror. Shame. “No. No.”

Breadcrumbs dangled from his mustache and yet his ridiculous appearance wouldn’t dissipate the mischievous tone of his question. She gaped, her cheeks burnt in betrayal and a distinguishable pinch broke through her stomach like a sharp needle. It was guilt. She always has struggled with it. But somehow her father managed to play oblivious and pull a flat expression over his face.

“But he knows you’re here.” He continued.

The way his intone bordered on assertiveness infuriated her. It wasn’t a secret that Adrien came to the bakery from time to time, let alone the enthusiasm and approval her parents seemed to show for him. They loved him. They liked his politeness and his sense of humor akin to her father’s. They enjoyed his childish interest in bakery and his appreciation in literature, which sometimes slipped up when he said fancy words in random contexts that neither of them understood. They _adored_ him because, in sum, Adrien was an extremely likeable person, so nobody could expect less from him.

Sometimes though, Marinette jealously wished otherwise.

“Thanks to _you_.”

She couldn’t control being petty. Her visit to spend the holidays in Paris was not a surprise for anyone, neither a secret to keep. But Marinette aimed to tear the weight of her poor choices that had been haunting her like a bird of prey since she left Paris, so the friendly reminder that Adrien was still in the picture didn’t bring any joy to her.

“You can’t blame me for being a polite man.” Her father patiently remarked, pointing her with his fork.

“I bet he didn’t even ask.”

“I felt pity.” He exclaimed, arching his eyebrows into a gesture that radiates fondness and compassion. “You should have seen his poor face.”

“I don’t care.” Tom gasped, bringing a hand to his chest, close to his heart. “You’re mean. We didn’t raise you like this.”

“I don’t care.” She repeated. “And we are not going to talk about him. Ever. I ban you.”

The man pouted and poured a good portion of lettuce into his mouth, reluctantly accepting the reprimand.

Marinette talked about her internship instead.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

It wasn’t supposed to happen in the first place.

Hardworking days and stressful nights were enough to catch Audrey Bourgeois’s persistent desire to find young talent. So, there was no novelty when Marinette received a proposal to spend an entire year as a fashion intern in New York two months prior to her graduation, neither the sureness with which she accepted the offer.

Consequently, her attachments to Paris ingrained. Days were sunny and hot, with plenty of time to spend and a countdown on her heels. Marinette invested her mornings working at the bakery in compensation for her long absence and her afternoons roaming along the bustling streets of the city in the company of her friends. A pleasant routine she managed to get accustomed to, even if the mixture of sweat and sunscreen let her chest uncomfortably greasy and her hair sticked onto her neck without truce.

And that’s how he caught her off guard.

One of the greatest favors Gabriel Agreste could grant to his son was giving him the freedom he always deserved. A tricky intermission before runways and classes started, anyway. But as long as Adrien didn’t get into trouble, he couldn’t bring himself to care since his fate looked bright for the first time in a lifetime.

Adrien showed up at the bakery the week after with a friendly greeting and a small talk as his eyes flickered delightedly through trays of croissants, pain au chocolat, and chausson aux pommes arranged inside the window display, until he decided to order either of them and leave the place with the promise of coming back soon.

He did it the next day.

It took about a week for Marinette to stop counting his visits, however unusual and longer they were. Not that she would complain, though. He offered good company at hours where sales were slow and her parents kept themselves busy in the kitchen. They had fun ─whether by talking or joking or playing cards on the counter─ and every time he left, Marinette’s heart pounded timidity in such way she thought that perhaps, despite years of self-improvement and past relationships behind, her feelings towards the boy hadn’t been wholly extinguished.

Until Adrien asked her out and her crush wasn’t a conjecture anymore.

Then he kissed her ─warm lips and soft fingertips brushing her cheekbones─ and she was in love.

When she left Paris, they both were heartbroken.

Marinette didn’t like to pry on her memories, but they tended to leak from time to time. Now, they were stronger. Maybe because she was unpacking inside her bedroom ─The one she hadn’t inhabited for months─ and one thing led to another, so now she wanted to bury her face on a pillow and drop a couple of tears instead of putting her clothes into the closet.

Conversely, Tikki had entertained herself by exploring the corners of the place.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” She asked. Marinette gave her a confused stare, holding a crumpled sweater in her hands. “Your room. It’s bigger than what I remembered.”

“And pinker.” Marinette added, wrinkling her nose as the picture of her plain tiny apartment popped into her mind, opposite to the colorful walls and embellished furniture surrounding her at the moment. “It’s odd. I guess I was too tired to notice it earlier.”

Everything was looking so clean and untouched that made her feel foreign. The blank spot on her desk left by her sewing machine and the lack of photographs on the walls somehow took away the identity and familiarity she used to regard. Now it was different, not entirely hers. And she disliked the fact that her sense of belonging was also included among the things she left behind.

“Me too,” Tikki agreed as she landed on top of Marinette’s open suitcase. “But I still love your house more!”

The girl chuckled and continued folding her clothes, placing them aside the suitcase, at one end of the chaise. “Of course! I have two wonderful weeks without taking turns to use the shower and running out of food every three days.”

“At least you’ll eat properly.”

Tikki was right. Human bodies shouldn’t be fed with instant noodles and lettuce salad on a daily basis, especially after two instances of food poisoning on her first month. But between meetings, lectures, assignments, and study sessions, she barely found time to prep her meals. And her roommates seemed to follow the same path, since college and part-time jobs in an expensive city do not allow a very luxurious and aesthetical lifestyle.

“I’m scared that my body has forgotten what is like to eat more than two meals per day.”

“Marinette, you haven’t been away for that long. You won’t die.”

“Let me whine for a while, okay?” She scowled before kneeling down to pick up a pair of socks that fell under the chaise. “I’m just a bit overwhelmed because everything looks so different and I’m feeling nostalgic.”

“It’s a normal reaction, you know. And you just got here, I assure you that you’ll be okay.” The tone she used was empathetic. Marinette hummed as her hand fumbled around the floor until she found what she’s been looking for. “You have plenty of time to catch up. It’s going to be so fun!”

“I think I may be being a little dramatic.” The girl straightened up and put the socks on top of a pile of t-shirts. “Not that you’re wrong, though. I do feel kind of gloomy and hopeless today, but I’m glad to be back.”

“Is because of what your parents said during lunch?”

“I mean, yeah.” She responded quietly, slumping her shoulders down and sitting on the armchair. “Sometimes I get the idea that I broke up with them instead of Adrien.”

Sometimes meant always. Her parents were good at hiding their bewilderment when she appeared red-faced and puffy from all the ugly crying she did on her way back home the night before her departure. They were sympathetic. They seemed to understand. But text messages and knowing looks between them at thousands of kilometers away were enough to raise suspicion.

“They just have so much love to give, it’s not like they’re holding a grudge against you. Nobody does, actually.”

Inwardly, Marinette had the impression she was being unfair, because within harsh glances and misdirected outburst, she was grateful for her parent’s perseverance for not letting Adrien alone.

“And Adrien respects your decision.” Tikki continued, unaware of Marinette’s overthinking. “So do I, If that makes you feel better.”

More often than not, those kinds of pep talks did their trick, yet her seasonal-deflated mood was easily crumbling Tikki’s well-meaning efforts to make Marinette not feel like crap. So now, cornered by regret and self-disappointment, Marinette thought she has more than one issue to apologize for.

Which somehow leaded her towards Adrien, again.

“Do you think he is going to reach out?” She bit her thumbnail as she asks with a sheepish hue.

There was a contemplative pause before the answer came to her. “Well, your father was very emphatic about it earlier.” Said the kwami, rising herself up to rest on Marinette’s tight. “Before you cut him off, obviously.”

She poked her lightly.

“Careful. You don’t want me to ban you as well.”

Tikki snorted, but she didn’t add more than an admonition in return. “I’m not the one who’s going to call him, anyways.”

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

There was a queue building up at the entrance of the bakery. It was tight and messy, with pompons stuck to colorful hats, thick coats and eager faces peeping out from the windows in a way Marinette couldn’t really ascertain who was in and who wasn’t, and certainly hindering the passage of casual pedestrians on the sidewalk like a human barrier.

In days prior to Christmas, seeing people gushing and pouring around the streets at a steady rate did not attract anyone's surprise. The forbearance gained by years of kneading and whisking indulged a set normalcy in spite of the hectic rush crowding inside the place and the long working days, which was exactly why Marinette didn’t really acknowledge the amount of times she’d packed pastries in pinkish boxes and brown paper bags as she slid her feet along the aisles behind the counter display. Her moves were automatic; she greeted using the same welcoming words, holding a pair of steel tongs in her hand, and took over the order with the agility she grown accustomed.

She didn’t notice him at first.

Marinette was looking for a new roll of self-adhesive labels in some box at the bottom of a shelf when a masculine voice stood out among the others from a far distance, clear and silvery. Unmistakable him.

Her body went freeze.

The boy laughed. It sounded muffled by the never-ending chatter of customers, yet her position ─ squatted near the ground, hidden by the counter─ didn’t get her the possibility of spying without being discovered, so Marinette wasn’t really sure who he was talking to. Though above all chances, she hoped it wasn’t her.

_What a theatrical way to get caught._

Another laugh followed suit, feminine and mature. It was her mother’s. Which didn’t sooth her apprehension to not be seen, because her stomach wanted to return the strawberry macaron she ate fifteen minutes ago in a very disgusting manner. And she definitely didn’t want Adrien, of all people, to witness the spectacle while she embarrass herself in public, even if she was just catastrophizing and none of those hypothetical thoughts had place in the wide spectrum of potential events and tangible outcomes.

But hypothetically, she was about to pass out, Adrien hypothetically was going to run away from her, and she’ll hypothetically die alone and unwanted in her hypothetical empty house.

Oh, no.

Her outrageous hypothetical fate didn’t stop Marinette’s knees to start getting sore. She felt cramped from the waist below and her temples begun to sweat, an unattractive overview she couldn’t push aside unless she changed her ridiculous position instead of protesting in silence. And before someone eventually founded her there, too.

Albeit Adrien’s voice couldn’t be heard anymore, Marinette was shaking.

 _Is he here to see me?_ The question spined around her mind at high speed. Anxiously. Hopefully. _Is he here to see me?_

Still facing the long shelf, Marinette stood up. Her heart pounded strongly against her chest and its beats ─unbridled and deafening─ spread all over her body. Somebody said something behind her, although between the buzzing and the panicking she couldn’t catch a hint of familiarity, neither a nice replay. But those words weren’t Adrien’s, so it didn’t matter if she wasn’t paying attention to them, anyways.

_Is he staring at me?_

Marinette turned around.

He wasn´t. She couldn’t even see him.

She felt dizzy. Horrified. Her eyes, trained by time, scanned through the unknown faces with unsettling despair as she held her breathing. They were everywhere, brimming and filling every corner in all directions, to the point that Marinette almost cried of frustration. She wanted them to step aside, to leave, thus she’d be able to find him.

And then, a blond mop showed up.

There, standing near the front door with his back pressed against the crystals and covered by a middle-aged couple stuffed with red shopping bags, Adrien Agreste was frowning at his phone.

Marinette studied his short stylish hair, his soft features, the oversized brown jacket that covered most of his upper body. He looked comfortable. Handsome. His shoulders were as hunched as his neck and his right leg rested crossed above his left, a posture that somehow infused composure and grace instead of gaving him a gawky aspect.

 _Unconscious model posture_ , as everyone would joke about and secretly was on top of her list of favorite traits about her ex-boyfriend.

A woman brought him out of his self-absorption. She motioned towards the exhibition ─the one Marinette’s father was particularly proud of─ standing outlandishly next to Adrien. He jumped away with a sheepish smile and muttered something that Marinette registered as an apology, tucking his phone inside his pocket, and lifting his chin up to see past the queue.

Until he spotted her.

For a breathless moment, they hold their gazes in recognition.

Adrien looked shocked. Distressed. His eyes travelled up and down along her body, piercing into her skin, and Marinette felt, for once, vulnerable in his presence. They grew impatient. Frantic. And as his stare fixed over hers for the third time in a row, she deciphered his expression with demeaning clearance: he wasn’t hoping to see her today.

Her shaky lips lifted, and then she waved at him weakly ─a tentative cue that might had no purpose since Marinette didn’t know exactly what she was expecting to receive. But Adrien’s surprise didn’t falter as he gave her a last meaningful glance before making his way towards the main counter, bumping into unforeseeable shoulders and sidestepping customers that didn’t move away.

It made her heart throb faster. Marinette stepped forward, dazed by the endless spiral of nerve-wracking anticipation, and her hands fell strenuous against the countertop in order to prop herself up and not crash over the floor.

When Adrien was in front of her, she couldn’t contain the urge to speak first.

“What are you doing here?” She blurted, disastrously not intending to say that at all.

Adrien startled at her, blinking. And rather than giving her a solid fuck off ─as Marinette might probably deserve at the very moment─ he rubbed the back of his neck and stammered, “I-I thought you’ll arrive tomorrow.”

“I arrived this morning.”

“Oh.”

Such an excellent kick-start.

Marinette wanted to hide her disappointment as every thick beat of stillness passed by. Why would Adrien talk to her again? The same person who broke up with him a few months ago under the absurd excuse of an untenable long-distance relationship. It was some wishful thinking that things between them would return to how they used to be at the beginning of summer. Light, and friendly and positively less romantic. It was foolish. And it didn’t stop her face from burning of humiliation and embarrassment for envisaging too much from their encounter.

And to her horror, the crimson deepening over her cheeks must had given her away because Adrien added in a dumb rush: “Your hair is longer.”

Last time she checked on it, it had grown a mediocre amount of two inches long ─which cut just above her shoulders, but still wasn’t the ideal goal─ even after smearing her scalp with heavy oils and home-made hair masks at least once a week.

She wasn’t particularly in the standpoint to correct that information. In its place, she responded, lightly dumbfounded. “I’m giving it a try. It's been a while since I styled it like this.”

Adrien nodded wordlessly. “I can’t say the same about yours, though.”

“Yeah.” A hand flew unconsciously behind his ear, brushing the short hairs that covered his nape. “I had a photoshoot last week.”

She nodded, too. As if his words made sense to her.

Their conversation went stagnant.

“Sorry, you must have a lot of work today, I won’t keep you any longer.” He shocked his head, stepping backwards. “I was just passing by and took the opportunity to say hello to your parents.”

Her panic rose up.

“It’s okay, we can talk. No hurries.”

Except it wasn’t okay. Marinette was not oblivious to the impatient scowls she was receiving for not doing her job, albeit no one was rushing her to continue ─Neither her parents, who definitely were overhearing their exchange ─. Nonetheless, the bakery was three hours away from closing and she couldn’t risk asking him to wait for that long.

She bit the inside of her cheek as Adrien’s expression caught a tint of wariness, the first sighting of something more than mere perplexity since they meet.

“Twenty minutes.” She said quickly and her voice came high-pitched, although firm. “I’ll be free in twenty minutes.”

Adrien shuffled and took a gander to the entry. And after what felt like an eternity, he answered with vacillation, glancing back at her. “Okay.” Immediately, he straightened and scratched his nose. “Yeah, I can stick around for a while.”

Marinette faked a smile.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

The couch felt uncomfortable beneath her tights.

For what is worth, it wasn’t the couch per se, rather the hushed silence they conjured after getting bored from murmuring nothing but closed-ended questions and half-heated answers within the loneliness of her living room. Outside, the wind swung up and down and whistled through the pipes and cracks of the windows like a cavernous, hollow sound. The lively whisper of streets sliding along the walls and filling the room with people’s quiet chatter and whirring engines.

Marinette thought the moment was beyond awkward.

At the other end, Adrien was playing with the cotton hem that peeked out below his jacket. His peppermint tea remained untouched over the coffee table, the sugar jar equally forgotten beside the mug and the plate of crackers that Marinette arranged almost ten minutes ago.

Perhaps, inviting him to come over wasn’t one of her smartest moves.

She shifted her hips and uncrossed her legs, the heels of her white combat boots slumping against the floor with a dry thud.

“How’s modeling going?”

“Same as ever.”

“Cool.”

Despite the determination that was keeping her on guard, their lack of interaction was consuming. Marinette was at the verge of nail-biting down to her cuticles as she braided her ideas into sentences so she could coax out more than dumb jabbers. Although Adrien wasn’t doing any better with his stiff shoulders and wretched grimace and…

“How is your internship going?”

“Good.”

“Cool.”

Adrien nodded; his attention focused on the seams of the armchair. “What do you enjoy the most about it?”

It was the largest question thrown up in the course of the last hour and yet it didn’t even come from her. Marinette licked her lips and clenched her hands into fists atop her lap as she enlisted a terribly number of episodes about her adventured, soul-searching, and totally worthwhile new life outside this continent. And there was a lot. And mostly, they weren’t bad. But Marinette didn’t understand why she couldn’t share a piece of that information without feeling she was betraying someone.

She shrugged with false confidence. “I have really good mentors.” She said casually and pretended, just for a while, that she was talking to Adrien ‘the nice friend’ instead of Adrien, ‘the ex-boyfriend’. “Well, I get yelled at a lot, but I guess it’s nothing too personal.”

“Must be nice.”

“I'm not complaining.”

Surprisingly, a clasped snort slipped out his nose and she sensed him turning his head towards her. “Yeah, right.”

At first, the new shifting felt out of bounds. Unfitting. However, the new glint on his eyes alighted a faint ember of proximity inside her chest.

It fueled her hopes to keep going.

“I forgot we have Mr. Celebrity here.” She ventured to quip despite her accelerated pulse. “The one who knows everything about fashion industry.”

Adrien smirked and, by all means, the flirty Adrien Agreste had always been the version she liked the most.

“Why do I get the impression that you think I'm showing off.” He scoffed, settling down, half of his body facing her.

Marinette got extremely fixated on that little good thing she accomplished to duel on how his playfulness was cracking the surface of locked old wounds.

She raised her eyebrows. “You’re a model, you always show off.”

His laugh was strenuous.

Marinette mirrored his position, laying her elbow against the back of the couch and resting her cheek on her palm, her amusement evident as she studied Adrien’s flustered cheekbones and the inviting complicity on his smile.

His voice came out of nowhere. “You must be making the most of it. Your internship, that is.”

“I do. I’ve learned a lot from it.”

“It’s a big opportunity.”

“I know.”

Silence.

Haltingly, Adrien looked down at his lap and fidgeted with the ring that adorned his right hand. “Is it scary to be there?”

Unconsciously, Marinette brushed the hills of her knuckles; the ghost of his metal tickling her skin at the memory of the occasions when his bulky size was buried against her fingers.

The internship. _We’re talking about the internship._

A big lump rose up at the middle of her throat. “It’s been quite hard, but I've managed to get used to it.”

His ring gave a large twist and it almost slid completely off. Adrien furrowed his brow, his breathing becoming heavy before breaking out in a tight whisper. “I wasn’t quite expecting to see you today.”

In the purest sense of word, it was an obvious utterance.

“Neither did I.”

There still was a trace of trepidation when Adrien decided to look up. “It has not been the same since you left.”

She tried to fight back the tension.

“Nino and Alya are still in town.” Was her half-joked reply, although it sounded flatter and bitter than she planned to. “I’m sure you’ve had fun with them.”

Actually, Alya was fond of sharing their lives in Paris to keep her updated, whether by sending her endless texts and making late-night videocalls, even if they were hard to set due to their six-hour time gap. And judging by their frequency, it was far beyond guessing that her friends hung out more than she could acknowledge, hence there wasn’t anything wrong on assuming he was doing good with them.

(Not that she was using it as an excuse to not delve in conflicting issues.)

“I do, but that’s not what I meant to say,” Adrien clarified. “I─ I’m just happy that you’re here.”

The words soured inside her mouth like a gush of raw vinegar.

“Why?” She croaked. Her gut panged and twirled, and she didn’t feel particularly pleased by the idea of hyperventilating because Adrien touched a sensible spot. “We’re not…precisely friends right now.”

Adrien propped his knee over the seat cushion and muttered, meekly. “I think it’s kind of obvious, Mari.”

“I thought you were mad at me.”

A pause. Marinette lift her legs till she was hugging her shins, lost on a handful of non-stop _sorrys_ and please _forgive me’s_ that resounded like a broken record at the back of her mind as she waited for his confirmation to come. However, every hitch on his breath and the trailed off babbles that cast unintelligible from his half-opened lips gave her the impression that Adrien was struggling at her side, too.

Marinette tighter her grip.

“I’m not. Maybe at first I─ but it really didn’t last long and…” He rambled. “No, I’m not.”

If Ladybug weren’t accustomed on getting punched like a boxing bag, perhaps she would say his confession hurt like a jab on the stomach. But metaphors and figurative language could make a fair deal in terms of describing inner sorrows and garbled physical pain.

“Marinette.” Adrien called her attention back, running a hand through his hair. “Why do you ever think that I could possibly hate you?”

She shrugged timidly. “I broke up with you because I was going to leave.”

“And that’s okay.” He stated in disbelief. “You didn’t do anything wrong. God, is this the reason why you haven’t been talking to me?”

Marinette could tell that Adrien was hurt by the high inflection in his question. She remained quiet, reflecting as if she really had more than a single answer to that, although all she could muster came close to an absolute yes.

“I wanted to give you space.” She explained finally, hunched. “It was the least I could do.”

Adrien shocked his head. “You didn’t need to do that.”

And before she could take noticed of it, a tear was running across her cheek. Mortified, Marinette pressed her palm over her eyelids and rubbed them energetically until they ached, not daring to face his reaction in the slightest. “I’m sorry.”

With cautiousness, Adrien inched forward and nudged her knee.

“Hey.” He called softly. “Come here.”

Newly overwhelmed by what would be the first physical contact between them since late August, her watery gaze fell on where the warm of his touch lingered on the fabric of her jeans. Adrien lurched backwards and gave her room to loosen up her grip and lower her feet to the ground, patiently waiting for her deliberate movements to end as she adjusted herself on the couch thus he could wrap his arm around her shoulders.

Nestling her crown under his chin, Marinette sighed.

“Whichever label you own, Marinette.” He whispered, “Be it an ex, a friend or a girlfriend, won’t make a difference in the way I care about you.”

“You sure?”

Adrien squeezed her arm.

“You said it yourself, there was a time you told me we were more than just a break-up.”

Marinette uttered a wet chuckle. “I can’t believe I got backfired by my own advice.”

“To your credit, it was useful.”

“I was an idiot.”

“Indeed.” He conceded, but there was a light undertone beneath. “I mean, breaking Adrien Agreste’s heart? Hottest Parisian, heir of one of the most distinguished fashion companies worldwide and devoted philanthropist? So shameful, young lady.”

Sniffing, she feebly pinched his forearm and Adrien’s feigned squeal resonated through his chest. “Philanthropist? Where did that came from?”

“I could possibly be one.” He replied instantly. “Maybe I like keeping it low-profile and I’ve never told anyone.”

“Of course you do.”

A small laugh broke into the place as he stroked the velvety material of her cardigan sleeve. Then, holding her nerves on her fist, Marinette added. “I should have told you that I missed you earlier.”

Eventually, Adrien responded, quietly. “I missed you too.”

Pressing her lips together to withhold the thrill of his words, she seized the opportunity to creep a trembling hand over his jacket.

“I thought it would make it easier.” She forced out, her thumb hesitantly tracing the rough zipper of his pocket. “You didn’t deserve an unavailable girlfriend.”

The paperwork, the packing, the guardianship, the temporary good-byes, a relationship collapsing because of distance and the mere existence of Gabriel Agreste; back then, it did feel too much.

Marinette’s new hobby in her last months in Paris consisted of planning every possible way to meet cut off dates while she tried to figure out how the heck she was going to protect the city without her constant presence, spending weeks brainstorming back up’s plans with Chat Noir during patrols and stressful discussions with Tikki.

And when Gabriel Agreste demanded Adrien’s availability, it got worst. Unbelievably worst. Because suddenly, there wasn’t a single moment in the following days after her departure where his agenda wasn’t filled with photo shoots, or classes, or a ridiculous number of _nothings_ that he crammed between his son’s spare time almost purposely.

Borne by her responsibilities, she took her decision. Circumstances, however, didn't keep her from the knowledge that she was wrong.

“Like you didn’t deserve an unavailable boyfriend.”

“You might have a point there.” Marinette agreed, staidly. “But that’s not entirely true, either.”

“My father was annoyed.” Adrien commented and shuffled beneath her body, his arm no longer securing her shoulder, rather dangerously holding her waist. “It wasn’t against you, particularly. He just realized I’m stupid when I’m in love.”

“That’s a bit harsh.”

“Not really.” He snorted. “It’s a fact.”

“Which part?” She asked, barely withdrawing herself away from his chest. “Your father being a jerk or how a hopeless romantic you are?”

Adrien meet her gaze and smiled. “Both.”

Naturally, induced by a merged sense of déjà vu and some Adrien-starved need, Marinette relished on the homeliness of their trade-off, wondering if the likelihood of escalating to a higher level of exposing banter would be a risky path to follow.

Would it be a crime if she took a step further?

“That makes us two, then.” She replied. “About the love thing, I mean.”

“Oh?” A fierce blush blossomed across his cheeks. “That’s… good to hear.”

Marinette felt she was burning alive. “Is it?”

Adrien closely studied her features. His expression turned deep and prying, which transparency ignited a rush of self-awareness she couldn’t particularly endure. Nevertheless, she held onto it, always finding a sweet spot on how Adrien’s eyes searched for bravery on hers whenever he wasn’t confident enough to speak.

Marinette skimmed her thumb along his jawline and gulped.

“Can I ask you something?” He murmured and she eyed him keenly before nodding. “Did you─ Did you ever expect us to get back together?”

Her heartbeat rattled against her ribcage in a wild, fitful rate, almost screaming with the assurance of her statement anchoring on the bottom of her gut. How long could she continue to put up with the fact that her feelings for him had never left her?

“I always did.”

Adrien’s grin radiated a bit of mischievous when his free hand traveled up her spine and reached her nape. “So…Does it mean the option is still on the table?”

Marinette took a hollow, giddy breath and said. “I think we already concluded I’m a hopeless romantic too, Adrien.”

Before Adrien could have the chance to add something else, Marinette quickly tilted her head and crash their lips in a rushed, warm-hearted kiss.

It did not take him by surprise when she climbed onto his lap.

As a matter of consideration, maybe Marinette didn’t comprehend much about the boundaries of a reconciliation ─if there was such thing as that─, but the enthusiasm with she was being reciprocated and the digging pressure of his fingers on her hipbones were, with any luck, a positive indicator. The kiss was frantic. Adrien sighed, hugging her strongly. Marinette allowed herself to melt in the remembrance of his breath and the ticklish brush of their noses, a collapsing weight inside her lungs that blazed like a bonfire.

And with the same impetus she set at the beginning, Marinette started rambling against his mouth. “I should had given us a try. It was silly and I’m so sorry and…”

“Stop apologizing.” He shushed her. “I can’t kiss you when you’re talking.”

“I need you to listen…”

“And I’m done with listening.”

 _Too distracting._ Adrien hummed and attempted to lightly nibble her lower lip with the same charm and lure he managed to accomplish when make-outs made their appearance in their relationship.

_Excessively distracting._

She pulled away. “Adrien.”

“Marinette.”

Her voice came slow and somewhat severe. “I love you more than I could ever possibly admit,” She kissed his chin and then his forehead. “And I hope you trust me when I say that I won’t give up this time. Even if we’re busy and far away from each other, or if your father makes a fuss because he likes to meddle in your love life and be a pain in the ass. I don’t care.”

Adrien cupped her cheeks, and drew her to him. “I love you, Mari.” He said, tenderly, and pecked the tip of her nose. “Even if you make me the stupidest man on earth.”

Defeated by the fog of the sweetness of his scent and the remains of his taste, Marinette laughed ─ wholeheartedly, fearlessly, lovingly─ and kissed him again.

And for once, it felt like the right choice.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it!!! 
> 
> [my tumblr](https://eiphemode.tumblr.com/)


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